


An Autobiography - of sorts

by nebula99



Category: Fairy Tales and Related Fandoms
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-19
Updated: 2010-12-19
Packaged: 2017-10-13 18:56:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/140579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nebula99/pseuds/nebula99
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tatterhood tells her own version of the story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Autobiography - of sorts

**Author's Note:**

  * For [akamarykate](https://archiveofourown.org/users/akamarykate/gifts).



 

 **Tatterhood’s Blog** (http://ridingmycapricorn.blogspot.com)

 

Congratulations Web Surfer!

 

You’ve found my blog and for that you have been awarded one internet cookie. They don’t taste as good as the real thing but they last for longer.

 

There are some stories about me around the place. I’m guessing you’ve read them and that’s why you’re here. And if you’ve found me, after all that digging and chasing false trails, then you deserve to hear the real story. Or at least, my version of it.

 

Like I said, there are stories about me; some of them are true and some of them are lies. And some are both. I’ll let you decide which this one is.

 

The stories say my parents were childless. Well, that’s true. They married young, full of love and hope for the future. But as the years rolled around, one into another, my mother’s belly stayed resolutely flat and as she describes it, her womb wept tears of blood each month, mourning the unconceived babies.

 

Of course, they tried everything – including a vigorous bout of love-making on the Cerne Abbas Giant’s cock – but none of it worked. And my father retreated into his study and his books, while my mother baked furiously, as if the production of bread was in some way akin to the production of children.

 

But she never gave up hope – which is a quality of hers that you should all greatly admire. And one day, so this story goes, she was kind to an old woman. Her reward was to be offered her heart’s desire and of course, that was to bear a child. The old woman told my mother to look under her bed in the morning and to eat the most beautiful of the two flowers she would find growing there.

 

And this much is true. There were two flowers growing and my mother ate the beautiful one, just as the old woman had told her to. But my mother was a desperate woman and, having already tried all manner of charms to get pregnant, she decided to double her chances and eat the other flower too.

 

Now, everyone knows that when an old woman offers you advice in a situation involving magical flowers, you really should take it. But if my mother had obeyed, then the rest of this story would be very different and so I think you’ll agree that she did the right thing.

 

Forty weeks later, my mother gave birth to me – the ugly one. Some stories say that I was born riding a goat and carrying a spoon and some stories are lies and some are true. I had a shock of black hair, a scrunched up face and an attitude. I kicked like a goat and bashed my fists like a spoon and my mother loved me. The midwife was shocked at my face and my attitude and told my mother so, but as she tells the story, she held me tight and kissed my head and knew that there would be another baby too. She says that I whispered this to her and I have no reason to doubt it.

 

And then, my sister was born. Rosa was fair, and pretty, and quiet and in short, a perfect baby: the offspring of a beautiful flower. But my mother and father loved both of their daughters and we loved each other.

 

Growing up, I was the complete opposite to Rosa. The stories talk about the goat and the spoon, but there’s lies and truth in stories and memories. I didn’t like washing, or brushing my hair, or being dainty, so I left all that to Rosa. Instead, I ran around, climbed trees and got muddy, wore comfortable clothes and learned how to fight.  I let my hair mat and twist into dreadlocks and I pierced my ears and nose and eyebrows myself. I rode my Capricorn bicycle everywhere, and carried a spurtle around with me in my belt for playing soldiers. And everyone called me Tatterhood or Tats, which was fine by me.

 

(You know me by one name and maybe I’ll tell you another in time)

 

At night, Rosa and I would lie together in bed, talking about the future and sharing our dreams. She wanted to get married to a handsome prince, which was fairly standard, while I wanted to have adventures. Back then, I wasn’t too sure what kind of adventures, or where I would have them, but I always knew that I’d find a challenge if I just looked for it.

 

The stories don’t talk too much about where we lived and the details aren’t important – apart from the fact that the house was pretty isolated. We didn’t have neighbours, or passers by. Me and Rosa would often ride out on Capricorn to play with the children in the local village, but very few people ever came up to our house.

 

Which is why I knew it was bad when I saw the gang striding up the grass track to our home. They didn’t look like carol singers or ticket sellers – they looked like trouble.

 

I yelled to my mother and father to grab Rosa and get in the house and lock all the doors and windows. I told them I would deal with this and I grabbed my spurtle, which I’d sharpened to a point some days before.

 

I rolled up my sleeves and waited by the front door, my feet planted firmly on the ground and my other hand curled into a fist. I watched them swagger up to the house and the anger at their arrogance rose up inside me, ready to come spilling out into a blows of pure rage as they came within hitting distance. How dare they?

 

One of them called out to me as he grew nearer. I couldn’t tell you which one – stupid people all look the same to me. “Stand aside, Tatty, we’re here for the pretty one.” I scowled at him and said nothing. I just waited.

 

When they reached the door, one of them tried to push me out of the way. I rammed the spurtle into his eye and sent a roundhouse kick to head of his nearest companion. I fought and I kept on fighting, knocking them down and making them hurt for their arrogance and their cruelty.

 

A few of them – those that weren’t dead – got the message and began to retreat. I was just about to finish off the maggot in front of me when I heard Rosa shouting from somewhere above me. She was leaning out of the window, screaming with fright. As soon as I saw her, I jumped to try and get in front of her but I couldn’t move quickly enough. One of the gang slashed at her neck and caught her pretty head as it fell from the window. I gave chase, but he was too fast for me and the terrible noise that Rosa was making forced me back to the house.

 

When I got there, I saw that they’d swapped her head for that of a cow, leaving her gentle body confused and twitching. I was furious. I kicked open the door and screamed for my mother and father to come and stand before me. Curling my arm protectively around Rosa’s shoulders, I must have berated them for at least an hour for not listening to me and keeping Rosa safely inside. It wasn’t her fault – she wasn’t that bright – but it was their responsibility and they should have listened to me.

 

The stories say that we were attacked by trolls or witches. That part is definitely a lie. They were just normal human beings with all the human capability for evil. There was nothing supernatural, or even very interesting about them; just common or garden scumbags.

 

I left my sobbing and remorseful parents and set off with the lowing Rosa. I rode on Capricorn, with Rosa sitting on the back, and I pedalled as hard as I could. I knew where to go – I could smell the wickedness of them – and when I reached their lair, I carefully hid Capricorn and Rosa in some bushes outside. Before I left them, I patted Rosa on the head and scratched behind her ears and she mooed softly at me.

 

I let myself into the shack without difficulty. Evil people are generally stupid and they were too convinced of their own cleverness to bother with much security.

 

When I got inside, I surprised them. They weren’t expecting me, with my matted hair, huge leather boots, sharpened stick and butcher’s knife. I don’t think they believed that a girl could fight – least of all a girl like me – but I soon showed them how wrong they were. This time, I didn’t miss a single one and by the time I was done, the floor and the walls were wet with the blood of wicked men. I kicked through red puddles on the cold earth floor and snatched up the head of my beautiful sister, before striding out to find her.

 

After I had swapped Rosa’s head back, she flung her arms around me and cried. I hugged her back, after wiping the blood from my hands, and then I lifted her onto Capricorn and we set off to have more adventures. I think I deserved a few after the day I’d had.

 

The adventures aren’t written down in the stories and I’m not going to tell you them now. I want to have at least some secrets and I may choose to tell you one day – but today is not that day.

 

However, the part about meeting the princes is true – there’s a reason that part is in every story. Rosa met a handsome prince and while he wasn’t exactly interesting, he was sweet and she loved him. Fortunately, he loved her too, and he wanted to marry her. But, bless her heart, Rosa insisted on him finding a husband for me too. I did tell her that I wasn’t all that bothered about marrying but she was quite determined and I didn’t really have the heart to disappoint her.

 

So he found a prince to marry me too and we ended up sitting in the garden, me practising twirling my spurtle around my fingers and him just slumped with a face like a smacked arse. Eventually, I got tired of the moping and said, “It’s okay, I’m not all that fussed about marrying you either.”

 

He looked surprised and asked me why. I laughed and said, “I’m fine as I am. I don’t need a husband to make me feel complete – I’m only doing this to please Rosa. But you needn’t look quite so pissed off – I’m quite a catch, you know.”

 

Of course, he didn’t believe me. I lifted my feet up onto the table in front of me, slamming my boots down onto the weather-beaten wood and making him jump. I wasn’t pretty, I wasn’t skinny and I wasn’t meek – not princess material at all. But I was a kick-ass fighter and good to have around and what’s more, I wasn’t having any man be disappointed at the thought of me.

 

“You could talk to me,” I said, “Get to know me.”

 

He looked incredulous. “What should we talk about?” he said. I didn’t thump him, because he was kind of cute, and I suspected that underneath the sulking, he could be fun to hang around with.

 

“You could ask me why I ride this grubby old Capricorn?” I suggested.

 

He sighed and then asked. “Why do you ride that knackered old bicycle?”

 

“This?” I said, gesturing to it. “This is a Vincent Black Lightning – 1952.” And suddenly it was. He blinked and rubbed his eyes, amazed at the transformation. “You could ask about my spurtle,” I added.

 

He gave me a smile then and said, “Why do you carry an old spurtle around with you.”

 

I smirked at him. “What spurtle?” I said, brandishing a Claymore at him. “This is my sword, you silly boy.”

 

We laughed and I started to like him a little more. Then he bit his lip and said, “Why do you look so . . . fierce?”

 

For a moment, I considered but then I said, “Because I AM fierce, that’s why.”

 

I don’t remember what he said next, but I do remember that we had fun that afternoon.

 

Now, some of the stories say that I made myself beautiful for him but I never did. Beauty isn’t just on the outside and besides, I’d take awesome over beautiful any day. Beauty suited Rosa but it never suited me.

 

Reader, I didn’t marry him. I did think about it, but I just didn’t need a husband. I could sometimes use a sidekick though, and although it took Rosa a while to come around, eventually she understood and wished us well. We hang out sometimes, me and the prince, and I let him come on adventures. We can make quite a good team. But I don’t always need him around and so I strike out on my own when I want to. I know I can handle myself.

 

So that’s the end of my story. Well, it’s the end of as much of the story as I’m prepared to tell you here. And as I said – some of it is true and some of it might not be. If you ever meet me, you can buy me a beer and I might tell you some more – but then again, I might not.

 

Happy surfing

 

Tatterhood

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
